The album isn't mastered yet. A friend is working on that, and when the process is complete, this page will be updated with the mastered material. These .mp3 files are big, high-quality files, and their high bit depth and sampling rate might mess with some devices. Also might just sound extra lame on bad sound systems.

Thematically, the album is about extinction. Our extinction. It's another soundtrack to our creeping habitat loss problem. Hopefully, people will use it for documentaries about pollution or something. Could be good for a war documentary, too. Or Canada's famous waterless communities. Where previous A Great White Bird collections have flirted with sorrow, or at least worry, on some vague level, this one and the other recent ones are unabashedly steeped in dismay.

It's funny because it's basically a blues album. It's like a blues album or a punk album or a metal album. The music has finally become belligerant, and in a specific way. The tone is kind of supposed to be... enraged, sober, and damning. And beyond heartbroken. It's like, I have no right to clean air. Check. I have no right to clean water. Check. I have no right to clean food. Check. I have no right to safe work. Check. I have no right to subsistance living. Check. Instead of being an anomaly, this situation is altogether boringly common. Check. That's insane. That leads only to total emotional collapse, but instead of being presented through a hazy, kind of insane fog, it's clear. Sane. Peaceful. Totally, utterly hopeless, but at peace. A soundtrack to a silent spring. Not the first, and not the last, but since every silent spring is shocking, still a percussive event. Maybe that's why, ironically, the only percussive events in this collection are really the spaces between the songs. It's like, in a post-health world, the tone of life carries on, but the exuberance is gone. So where we once heard booming drums, in the fabric of our lives, now we have only empty, silent spaces.